


over fire and water (for your love)

by gzhjklweq



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brain Damage, But also, Canon, Car Accident, Comfort, Happy Ending, Home, I promise, M/M, Project Home, a lot of mentions of the song, and a lot of crying, but only mentioned, but really this fic is just a big sob fest, for, i guess, oh and dont worry, oh and there's some zouis, or if you wanna be emo, read when emo, umm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:12:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6677380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gzhjklweq/pseuds/gzhjklweq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all right" we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie: "I'll never leave you." For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad. </i><br/>          – Neil Gaiman: Midnight Days<br/> </p>
<p>non au; where a car accident changes everything, except for what they call home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	over fire and water (for your love)

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all, I'd like to say thank you to my professor at uni for teaching us about this certain thing you're gonna find in this fic. It probably contains a lot of medical inaccuracies, so if you're an expert at brain damage, and find anything wrong with it, don't hate me.
> 
> This fic has been my big baby for a while now, and posting it for Project Home feels so right. Like it was written to be posted for this wonderful event. So I just want to thank all the amazing organizers of this event, you all are the best! 
> 
> But the biggest thank you goes to my better half, [Liv](http://bigbadvampire.tumblr.com/) who held my hand all along, helped me with the plot, and just tolerated me. You're the best. Another special mention should be [Liny](http://ace-harry.tumblr.com/), for being the most encouraging person in the whole universe. She always had the nicest words about this fic, I watched her read it, and heard her screaming about it. And last, but not least, [Felix](http://louhearted.tumblr.com/), my lovely bean, who's always been there to help.
> 
>  
> 
> [#ProjectHome](http://projecthome2016.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> ( [listen on spotify](https://play.spotify.com/track/0uZzdkuzJEjFzaRR2HQ5mj), [buy on itunes](https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/home-single/id1051411246), [thunderclap](https://www.thunderclap.it/projects/39921-project-home) )

i.

 

A loud intake of breath. He just pulls him closer unconsciously, too lost in his own dream. But as soon as the body in his arms starts shaking, it doesn't matter anymore how happy he was just a couple of seconds ago in a world that does not exist, only in his mind. A trembling voice breaks the silence of the dark room,

"Bad dream." Maybe he mutters that only to himself, as a reminder that whatever happened to him - it's over. Harry is safe now. Home. In his arms. A tender kiss lingers on the nape of his neck, while the tight embrace fails to stop him from shivering. "I was there. Again." Harry speaks, sobs like periods at the end of his sentences.

_But you're here now_ , he thinks. _Everything's okay. You're here now._ Instead of mumbling those useless words aloud, he rolls Harry over to face him. Eye contact. It always works, even when nothing he could say would help. Thumb coming up to wipe the tears from his cheek, but there are always more and more, and they're soaking his pillow. It's not getting any better. The only sound that fills the room is the loud cry of Harry; this is the sound he hates the most. "Make it stop." He just nods, and tries. Fingers now drawing a circular pattern at the small of his back under the soft covers, foreheads pressed against each other. Eyes closed. _Just focus on my breathing_ , he thinks. His free hand finding Harry's clutching the sheet between them, and leading it to his chest to press both of theirs against it. _Focus on my breathing_ , he would repeat it. Instead he just opens his eyes to watch Harry; his eyes tightly shut, teeth sunken into his chapped lower lip, because this is the only way he can stop it from quivering. A couple of minutes pass; his sobs still as loud as before, but his fragile voice breaks them "Lou?" Heavy eyelids open, watery emeralds now locked with the concerned blues. He just hums in reply, fingers tightening around the hand on his chest. "Talk to me. Just talk to me. Anything." Louis' puzzled look is enough to give him away, "Just wanna hear your voice. It will help." He never speaks, the words that hold no meaning for Harry usually just add fuel to the fire. But what else could he do than complying. "Alright. I'm speaking. What do you want me to say?" Of course no answer follows the question, Harry's expression unreadable as he buries his face in the crook of Louis' neck. "I miss talking to you, so much. Even if it's just something stupid, and we both know we did talk a lot of bullshit, I just miss it. But I know you can fight this. I know you can. You're so strong, Harry. So strong." 

 

ii.

 

"Could this fucking plane fly any faster?" He curses under his breath as his trembling fingers are fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He cannot sit still, not even for a minute. This seems by far the longest flight he's ever had, and this is not the first time he has to endure eight hours up in the air. Shaky fingers capture his phone, waiting for it to light up with any kind of relieving information about _him_. But it doesn't come. Hours pass, and his eyes don't leave the screen of his phone, not even for a second. There is only one time when he receives a call during this never-ending flight, and it's Anne. He hates every second of it, every stifled cry, every silent sob, all the uncertainty that comes from the other end of the line. But the worst is, he can't say anything that would make it better. There is nothing that would make the situation any better. Except one thing. If Harry hadn't gotten in his car the previous night. 

 

Some hours later, he's the one who calls, unable to wait for them to inform him about his current state, not caring about the no cellphone policy, but no one holds a proper answer for him. He's alive. He hurt his head. He's not awake. Not enough information. 

Not enough.

_"You can't just waltz into the hospital! There must be paps, and you should be in London. Not in L.A.."_ He was told, like he's supposed to care about the public, when everything that matters to him is on the other side of the world. At that fucking hospital. That's where he's supposed to be, where he wants to be, by his side. Fuck everything else. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

_"I don't care, Harry is at the hospital, and I'm gonna be there as well, try to stop me. I don't fucking care. He's my fucking boyfriend, you can't stop me."_

Every feeling he's tried to keep in bay, mostly for Anne (she couldn't hear it in his voice how broken he truly felt, he had to assure her everything would be okay, the doctors would do anything to help him, and Harry would be okay. He has to.), all starts crumbling down the moment he hears his mother voice on the other side of the phone. He can't even form coherent sentences, he's stuck between _what if_ s, but not really thinking over any possible scenario with a bad ending, and Jay wouldn't even let him. Knees coming up to his chest as his free arm goes to wrap around them, to hold tightly as he rests his head on them, tears soaking his jeans. His voice gives up, it's practically a miracle that Jay can hear him mumbling the words, here and there interrupted with weak sobs. 

"I'm so scared, mum."

 

iii.

 

Louis always gets home to some familiar melody filling the house, mixing in the distance with harry's voice. He always sings along. He doesn't need to understand the lyrics, because he knows it, by heart. It's always one of their songs. If he doesn't remember the lyrics, he looks it up, memorizes it, and adds it to his playlist. He's tried to read lips, but other than _"I love you"_ , he can't decipher anything else that comes out of Louis' mouth. But maybe it's enough for them, for a while. Small steps. They have to appreciate them. 

He cooks, and sings. All the time. Maybe it's some sort of therapy, Louis believes. He tries to be at home with Harry as much as he can, he hates leaving him alone, even if it's just a couple of hours, or just a short trip to the nearest Tesco. 

"You know that you don't have to babysit me, right?" 

He nods.

"I'm fine alone, okay?"

He doesn't nod.

Maybe he's fine without Louis.

But Louis isn't fine without him.

Never will be fine without him. Not after those days he thought he's lost him for good.

He was there. By his bed. For ten days. Day and night. Sleepless nights spent with staring at Harry, waiting for his eyes to flutter open, for his lips to curve into that soft smile he knows so well, for anything that was a sign that his Harry was still there. Harry's therapy now is singing and cooking, his was talking. He talked for ten days straight to an unconscious Harry. About literally anything that came to his mind; probably most of it was some bullshit, he doesn't even remember anymore, and Harry doesn't either. Those days are just a big blur of waiting that blends together with the smell of the hospital and the constant beeping, which always reminded him that Harry was still there and alive. Just taking a nap. A quite long one, but he's there. And that's what matters. Maybe he's selfish for wanting to spend all of his time with Harry, but he stopped caring the moment he received that phone call about Harry's accident. Nothing will stop him from spending as much time with him as he wants. Which means, preferably, every single day for the rest of his life.

Arms wrapping around his tall torso from behind as Harry puts the icing carefully on the sixth cupcake, with the last line of "Home" leaving their lips together. It seems to be Harry's favourite, the words of the song always rushing out of his lips with such an ease when he sings it (and it's lately getting close to _all the time_  rather than _sometimes_ ) and everything about it just really feels like _home_. His boy singing his song.

"We sound too good together. Something I've always known." Harry says and punctuates his statement with a short peck after he turns around in his arms, quickly followed by a pout. "And I barely hear your voice lately." Before Louis could protest; they've had this talk before, and they both know how it effects Harry if Louis talks - and he doesn't understand it, Harry continues. "I've been thinking a lot lately, and I think you should talk. I can't silence you forever, because I don't feel comfortable with my.. thing." He never calls it anything. "And maybe it would help. If someone can help me to get through this, it's you, and only you." Fingers come up to play with his soft fringe, forgetting about the pink icing that covers his hands, and getting some into his hair, accidentally. "So, will you please talk to me, from now on?" Louis nods, maybe it's out of habit, or the fact, that he doesn't believe it could be a good thing, reflects on his action. "That was a nod. I want to hear you. Promise me, Lou." Breathe in, breathe out, and then he says, "I promise." Harry's face falters, but only for a second, as if he was expecting something else, but for Louis it's obvious what it means. He just simply doesn't understand what he said, just like any other time since the accident.

Aphasia. That is what the doctor called it. It sounds like a disgusting disease, and it's really not that far from the truth. There were hopeful words that shone so bright in the darkness of bad news for Louis, as he listened to the doctor's speech, but they were always accompanied by facts that showed the probability of Harry ever really getting his ability back to understand spoken language was actually quite low. It's not like some fairytale for children, where the kiss of true love heals everything all at once, but god, if it did, Louis would never stop kissing Harry. 

There are days filled with silence, instead of music, and tears, instead of baked goods. And Louis is just -- there. The sudden change of emotions are hard to deal with, but he really tries his best. "I will never ever understand a word." He mumbles against his pillow that smells like flowers and something else (he has no idea what it could be, but he loves it anyway). "I'm sorry, Lou. I'm so sorry." Louis wants to raise his hand to place it on Harry's swollen lips (he always bites them lately, a habit he's picked up) to show him how wrong he is, because none of this is his fault; he was just driving his car back home, completely sober; he wasn't the one on that night who decided to get in the car totally wasted and collide with someone else's; he was just at the wrong place, at the wrong time. The only one they should blame was the drunk bloke driving his car like a madman, not Harry. Never Harry. He just wishes Harry could see it this way, if there was a way to tell him, other than those stupid texts that feel ridiculous when they're just sitting across the sofa. But he can't say this, can't tell him, and Harry keeps on talking.

"I ruined not only your life, but the boys' too. I saw the headlines, Louis. I read them. _Harry Styles abandons the band!_  and _No more One Direction - thanks to Harry Styles_. I saw them all. I -- I almost died, and they write these things.." Suddenly he chuckles, and turns around, now facing Louis, who always spends these days in bed with him, where else would he be, if not here? "It's funny. Isn't it? What would they write if I did die? Selfish Harry Styles rather dies than to come back from the break. No Direction. One Direction is over." A fake shocked face, after those cruel words that just fell from his lips. His laugh is now echoing in the dark room, but Louis' face is just as concerned as it was only a minute ago when Harry was doing the complete opposite of laughing. He quiets down, just as his smile fades, it is not present anymore. He just stares into Louis' eyes, desperately searching for an answer, for something to hold onto. There's something assuring about his gaze, Harry feels it, everything he can't say he tries to tell them with his eyes. It usually works. Louis holds up his thumb, pressing it tenderly against Harry's cheek, wiping his tears meanwhile. Their secret little sign language they used so often, is now useful again. Just a matter of seconds, and Harry is back to crying all over again, this time soaking the soft fabric of Louis' shirt. He doesn't mind.

 

Sometimes he seems like he's studying the songs he already knows: focusing on the lyrics he hears, but doesn't understand. 

Sometimes he writes a word down and asks Louis to read it out loud. Then to repeat it. And again. And again. 

But sometimes he thinks none of this works. And he's back in bed all over again, with his muffled sobs hidden in the pillow. That smells like flowers. And something else.

 

Is that the smell of his tears?

 

 

 iv.

 

It's only tossing and turning all night for Louis; maybe it's because of the heavy thunderstorm, or maybe the five thousand and three hundred and seventy-eight miles. Five thousand and three hundred and seventy-eight miles distancing him from the one thing that could definitely help him sleep. Harry. The only thing on his mind. Harry, Harry, Harry. He loves London, everything about it; their home the most, but without Harry it isn't the same. Nothing’s the same. Everything's just black and white. He should be used to it, he thinks, he really should, being so far from each other is nothing they have never experienced, but in reality, he can never be used to Harry's absence. 

This is when he reaches for his phone that’s placed on his nightstand to call him. But he doesn't pick it up, and it's all fine, he has things to do, maybe he just didn't hear it, it's all fine. Louis knows it is. He should be used to this too. He turns his face, his head sinking into his big pillow with his face down. And there he is. Harry. Or at least his smell. It’s always there. He can barely breathe as his nose is flat against the soft fabric of his pillow, but he can smell it. He is there. Maybe he can fall asleep like this. Maybe.

A couple of hours later the screen of his phone lights up because of an incoming call from **_H_**. It illuminates the completely dark bedroom; its light is so strong, yet not quite bright enough to wake Louis up. He’s safe and sound in his dream, somewhere he can be happy with Harry by his side. But if he knew that this would be his last chance to actually talk with Harry, if he knew that he was in his car on his way to collide with another, if he just knew he would call again, he wouldn’t have silenced his phone. He wouldn’t have.

 

 

v. 

 

 

One of the many things that has changed ever since the accident, is that Harry never goes out on his own, not even for grocery shopping. Maybe it’s just Louis overreacting the situation, but there’s already enough rumors about them, about Harry and his condition, and they are definitely not in need of more. So grocery shopping, it’s been Louis’ thing for a while. Harry writes him a list, and he goes to get anything he needs.

 

He leans down to press a soft kiss against his hair; Harry is lazily sprawled across their king size bed, the white sheets wrapped around his tall torso. It’s one of _those_  days, but Louis doesn’t mind. His lips linger; instead of one goodbye kiss he sits down next to him on the bed, his head still buried in Harry’s hair. His hair that used to smell like lemon feels completely different now. It’s kind of bitter and sour, almost hurts to inhale. Then it all clicks for Louis. Where he last felt this sharp, bruising smell. The hospital. He instinctively leans closer and peppers his forehead with kisses, tenderly pushing his hair back. There’s no trace of Harry’s smell, even though they have been home for quite some time, and he is one hundred percent sure Harry has washed his hair. But the smell is still there. They can’t escape, like the horrible memories, they’re always there to remind them how their life has turned upside down. If he closes his eyes he can almost see the cold walls of Harry’s room, the constant but hopeful beeping. And the smell of the hospital.

He shuffles underneath him on the bed to face him, and pecks him. “Go shopping.”

So Louis just nods, but before leaving he tilts Harry’s face with his fingers placed under his chin, which is now covered with stubble; god knows how long it’s been since Harry last shaved – it’s a habit he’s picked up on, or the lack of it. But Louis doesn’t mind. He kisses him one last time before leaving the room. From the doorway he looks back, to see exactly what he wants to see; Harry’s smiling at him. “Don’t forget the list!”

He nods and goes to take his coat, and before finally leaving the house, he calls back, probably just on an instinct, to say goodbye. “I love you.”

But when the words slip out, he realizes it was pointless; Harry didn’t understand anyway.

“I love you, too.”

However, the reply comes and Louis hand stops, hovering over the doorknob. His body completely freezes, but only for a few seconds, because he storms back immediately to their room, meeting there an equally stunned Harry now standing next to the bed.

They just stare at each other, Louis waiting for Harry to say something, Harry trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

“I think I… maybe… I don’t know, I understood?” Louis’ still speechless, waiting for more and more answers from Harry. “You said ‘I love you’, right?” He nods, because yes, that’s exactly what he said, but how the hell did Harry understand? “I don’t get it,” he continues. “but say it again.”

So he does. “I love you.”

“Oh my god.” Harry hurriedly takes those few steps distancing him from Louis, and wraps his arms around him, his face buried in Louis’ hair. “Say it again.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” At one point Louis’ tears start falling, meeting Harry’s where their cheeks touch, and mixing together. It’s messy, but they don’t care. The only thing they care about is those three words that are finally not only empty sounds for Harry, but a whole meaningful sentence.

“I love you, too. So much.” His embrace is now so tight, he never wants to let go of Louis, of this moment. He wants to hold onto it forever. Maybe if he just hugs him close enough it will never end.

 

 

No one counts the minutes they spend there in each other’s arms; it’s just soft touches and murmured I love you’s and quiet sobs. None of them wants this to come to an end, but it has to, and Louis’ curiosity wins, so he leads them to the bed. A couple of seconds passes, filled with only their silence as they stare at each other, in loss of words. Neither of them knows where to go from here; Louis needs to know if there is anything else Harry could understand – they need to try. The hopeful feeling in him is relentless, maybe this is it. Maybe this is when all the broken pieces start to fit again.

Harry breaks the silence – Louis _can’t_  – words careful, his voice quiet. 

“I don’t know what to do now. Maybe, I don’t know, you could say other words?”

_What words?_ is the unspoken question that never leaves Louis’ lips, but his eyes, that bore into Harry’s, are enough to deliver it. Harry knows, he always knows.

So he starts suggesting words, basic ones, which they would probably say every day. And Louis repeats them, carefully articulated with the constant eye contact. Again, there is no need to say anything after all is said, it is clear that none of them sounded right for Harry. None. Tears start to pool in his eyes after Louis finishes the list of words. He quickly finds himself wrapped in Louis’ sheltering arms. Maybe he can hide away from everything in his arms. Maybe reality won’t find him there.

“I thought – “, he tries to speak up, but his voice is breaking, and so is Louis’ heart. “I just thought that maybe – maybe this time it all works out.” Now he knows it was all too hopeful, and that the small steps, such as understanding _I love you_ , should be enough, but suddenly it isn’t. After a glimpse of the normal life, where he has no problem understanding words, it’s just not enough. He wants it all – but he can’t have it, and it hurts. It hurts so much that he can’t help but soak Louis’ t-shirt, again.

“I love you.” Louis murmurs, as he tries to soothe him with his fingers stroking his hair, and lips pressed to his forehead. “I love you.”

Harry nods before uttering the words barely audible, “I love you, too.”

 

Small step. It should count. But maybe it’s too small.

 

 

 

vi.

 

Sometimes they sit on the couch, legs a tangled mess, with a blanket lazily thrown over the two of them. Both boys' hands occupied with their phones.

 

**You know you can talk, right?**

_I know, but it's more fun if both of us text_

**Oh please, tell me what fun it holds for you. Are you training your fingers?**

He chuckles, that's always a win for Louis, no matter if it's one of the good days or bad days. Making Harry laugh is something that is always worth the effort. But instead of a witty answer this follows his message.

_Zayn texted_

His head doesn't move, but his green orbs are now fixed on Louis as the message gets sent, focusing on the changes of his features, as his jaw drops and brows furrow almost immediately as he reads it. Eyes quickly look for the ones fixated on him, as in questioning him without words. So Harry goes to reply instantly. In a text, obviously.

_He asked how I was_

Louis murmurs under his breath, "what a fucking creative question" but instead of writing down the exact same words, he just types

**That's nice of him**

And they both know that's not what he really said.

_He asked about you too_

**I'm not the one who had an accident**

_He's worried about both of us_

**He doesn't need to worry about me**

He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea: how could someone care about him when Harry is in a situation like this. With a huff he sinks deeper into the couch, pulling up the blanket to his chest. He can already feel Harry won't drop it, but he has no intention of continuing this conversation. 

_Don't pretend that this doesn't affect you_

His screen lights up on top of the blanket where he put it after his last reply. Harry's questioning gaze on him, but after he read the text he just simply groans and drops his head on the armrest. Under the blanket Harry's legs shuffle and kick Louis in his side, which just results in more groaning from Louis' side.

_And don't pretend you don't miss him_

Finally, Louis decides on answering, but strictly to the first one, ignoring the second message. After pressing send he places the phone on the coffee table, ready to drown in the cushion as he slips lower, making it clear he's done with this conversation.

**It doesn't affect me. I'm fine**

He knows very well how much Harry hates this, the fact that Louis could end a conversation like this. 

"Louis, don't do this." A little nudge with his foot under the blanket again, getting only a shrug from Louis as a reaction. "If you don't want to talk about it with me, fine, but at least talk to someone. Anyone." He is almost begging, but nothing, phone still lying on the table, Louis avoiding his glare.

He just simply doesn't want to talk about it at all. About the feeling he got when he heard the word accident and Harry in the same sentence. About the feeling he felt as he traced Harry's tattoos on his lifeless hand, remembering all the secret promises they meant for them. About the feeling that got trapped in his stomach when Harry's breathing changed for a second, the hope he tried to suppress, that maybe, maybe this was it, the time when he finally woke up. But it wasn't. He still had to wait five more days. He doesn't want to think back to Anne's face either when she first saw her son, lying in the hospital bed, bruised, but peaceful. He looked so peaceful, that's what scared him. He seemed so content in his dream, like he wouldn't want to wake up, and come back to Louis. 

He doesn't want to consider their future, where Harry is still unable to comprehend spoken words, and there is nothing he could do to change that. Where he wakes up once a week to loud sobs filling up their room at four in the morning. (Not that he would ever choose anything else over his life with Harry. Going through bad times with him is still better than anything else he could ever imagine without Harry by his side. Without him by Harry's side.)

He doesn't want to think of any of this. 

"Talk to Zayn." is the next thing that leaves Harry's mouth. 

 

 

 

vii.

 

The strange, bitter smell of the hospital feels almost familiar, after the many check-ups they’ve had to attend since the accident. They’re always there together, always clutching the other’s hand tightly, like there’s no tomorrow – because really, what if there isn’t any? – as a silent reassurance, _it’s gonna be okay_. And this time it’s no different either. It never stops being intimidating the view of Harry’s body disappearing in the big MRI scanner, and on a day like this, when Harry just refuses to talk to him, saying _“It’s useless anyway_ ”, it’s just even worse, and with his thoughts all over the place, Louis can’t focus on anything else but _Harry_. So when a nurse rushes to him to whisper that there are some people near the back door where their car is parked, and a second later he has no idea what kind of information she shared with him, he really can’t be blamed for forgetting it. There’s just too much going on in his head.

When they step out of the dimly lit hallway through the back entrance, the first thing they notice is the sudden noise, and, of course, the flashing lights that is produced by the cameras of the paparazzi. Louis acts on his first instinct, shielding Harry from the invading group of people, as they approach their car. It’s all too hectic, incoherent yelling, and they’re blinded by the flashes. He watches Harry’s face, whose eyes are shut, letting Louis just guide him. But there’s one voice, one that’s louder than the rest, and it catches Louis attention.

“Good to see you’re okay, Harry. But is One Direction really over? How does it feel being the one to end the band?”

And another.

“Why are you hiding, Harry? Do you have amnesia? Or what is it? And why are you with Louis? Are you two dating? Aren’t you mad at Harry for breaking up the band, Louis?”

The anger is the worst. He could walk up to him and shatter his camera into million pieces on the ground, for having the gut to say such things about Harry. This is the only time he’s glad he can’t decipher any comment they throw at him. Having no idea about all the things they’re yelled at, the only good part of all of this. He can’t hold back the words he spits back at the paparazzi.

“Leave us the fuck alone, with your fucking camera. We’re coming out of a hospital, have some respect.” Harry’s eyes are suddenly on him, suspecting him, trying to make out what’s happening. But really, it’s not that difficult for him. Maybe he doesn’t understand what they yell, he really well _knows_ what they’ve got to say.

“So is this a yes? Are you together?” He should have learned a long time ago that no, they’ve got no respect for anyone at all. No matter who you are, where you are, _how_ you are.

“What if we are? Are you fucking happy to write it in your stupid fucking paper?”

 It slips out so easily. He doesn’t think, he _can’t_ think.

 

He just wants to protect Harry.

 

 

 

 

viii.

 

 

Just a normal day, that’s what it is. Hand holding the phone against his ear; it’s Zayn on the other end of the line. With Zayn, it’s anything but easy, but better. Better for Louis, because even though he could talk to anyone about anything, and they would welcome him with open arms, there’s no one else like Zayn. Even after everything they’ve been through. And better for Harry, because when he catches a slight smile forming on Louis’ lips, or a harsh laugh filling the silence between them as he’s speaking to Zayn on the phone, it’s worth every forgotten word, because there’s everything he needs in that laugh.

It’s been raining the whole day, if it wasn’t for the TV, the constant monotone sound of the rain as it falls on the windowsill would fill the room. Hands intertwined on Harry’s chest as his back is pressed against Louis’ chest, their legs entangled on the couch, eyes glued to whatever that is on TV, while Louis softly hums his response to Zayn. 

“Yeah, we’re home.”

Harry goes completely stiff in his arms, but doesn’t say anything, just carefully listens, trying to block the sound of the TV without actually lowering its volume.

“Ha ha ha, very funny. You know, I could end this conversation with one little tap of me finger, anytime.”

His body twitches ever so slightly in Louis’ arms, his breathing has now completely stopped. Just listening to whatever else he is about to say.

“First I was considering calling Liam, maybe should’ve done that.”  He laughs, but it quickly fades when Harry finally turns around; his expression serious, almost unreadable. Just a questioning look is all what he receives from Louis, but in response he gets only three words.

“Calling.” Deep breaths between every word, “Conversation.” and a short pause again, “Home.”

“I’ll call you back.” Without any further explanation he hands up, and quickly throws his phone away to the table, next to their long forgotten mugs full of tea, to focus completely on the man in his arms.

 

( For a couple of weeks he has come to the realization that he understands quite few words, pronouns, for example, but it didn’t feel like a real progress then. He still couldn’t have a proper conversation, and that was the bottom line. )

 

“Say it.” Harry demands, and Louis is quick to repeat those words, but when Harry hurriedly gets up from his lap, he has no idea what’s happening. After Harry storms out of the living room, he returns with his laptop in his hands, still refusing to explain anything to Louis. He sits back, and for half a minute he remains silent, Louis left guessing what he’s doing.

But then Home starts playing.

His brows furrow in that usual way, when he concentrates on something, and his eyes now wander to Louis finally. It’s obvious for him that Harry is singing the song silently, listening intently to the lyrics. Tears start to pool in his eyes, and right after the first chorus ends, he sets the laptop aside, and wraps his arms tightly around Louis, who is still unable to process whatever that’s happening. Right until Harry finally starts speaking, lips softly brushing Louis’ earlobe as he murmurs those long awaited words that Louis couldn’t wait to hear.

“It worked.” It’s obvious from his voice that he’s trying to hold back a sob, but his body is shaking, nevertheless. Louis tries to keep him together, with his arms holding him firmly from falling apart, to glue all the broken parts of him back together. “Your song.” Which is still on, filling the room with music that is interrupted with Harry’s low voice. “I don’t know how, and why now, but it worked. You helped.” Now instead of a sob, a loud chuckle escapes his lips. “You were always so patient with me. So patient.”

Ever since the accident, Home has become his favorite song. For different reasons. But at the end of the day, the most important thing for him was that this song is _them_. They’ve written many songs to each other, about each other, but this one, this one is something else. Something special. It feels like _Home_. Like each other. This is why this song has always been on, and if not on speakers, it was Harry who was humming the song lowly. In the shower, in the kitchen while baking, with his tongue peeking out as he focused on solving that giant puzzle he got last Christmas from his mom, it’s just been always _Home_. Always.

But now, no matter how much he wants to stay like this forever, so tenderly in his embrace, Louis pulls back a little to look for his eyes, hoping he would find answers there. “I – I don’t.. don’t.” _understand_.

“But I do. I understand every word.” Head snaps towards his laptop on the table next to them. “Every word in the song. I can.” The way the words rush out of him feels liberating. He really does understand them, Louis can see it in his eyes that now sparkle from the tears that have welled in them. Then he says, at the same time as his own voice does on the record. “We could be enough.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave feedback in any form, it's always appreciated! here's the [tumblr post](http://therainbowmug.tumblr.com/post/152666501945/over-fire-and-water-for-your-love-by) for this fic, reblog it if you want, and if you wanna message me, you can do it on that blog! <3


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